


but when we are gone (it will still burn on)

by eponnia



Series: we didn’t start the fire [1]
Category: Disney - All Media Types, Newsies - Menken/Feldman/Fierstein
Genre: 63rd Hunger Games, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Cross Posted on Fanfiction.net, District 6, Gen, Hunger Games Tributes, Minor Violence, More Sympathetic Joseph Pulitzer, POV Female Character, Peacekeepers, Reapings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4161207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eponnia/pseuds/eponnia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If it is not recorded, it never happened.</p><p>Previously titled "strange things did happen here".</p>
            </blockquote>





	but when we are gone (it will still burn on)

Katherine’s hands trembled as she pinned back her dark hair.

A nervous glance at the clock informed her that only half an hour remained. Loose curls fell on her shoulders as she gazed into the mirror, green eyes taking in her lilac dress and coiffed hair. Drawing in a shaky breath through her nose, she gave up on improving her appearance further and opened her diary. Flipping through its contents, the white page that fell open all but mocked her with its blankness when she hesitated. Placing the tip of the pen on the paper, Katherine began to write.

_There is a chance this could be my last entry, as I cannot take my diary with me. This is my last year of eligibility to be Reaped for the Games and I am_

A firm knock interrupted her, and, closing her diary, she looked over her shoulder at her bedroom door. “Come in.”

Her father entered the room, features lined and gaze serious behind his glasses. “Are you ready?” Joseph Pulitzer asked, tone neutral, but the mayor fumbled for a moment with his handkerchief as he cleaned his glasses.

Katherine stood from her vanity, smoothing the skirt of her lilac dress, but paused. She ran her fingertips over the leather cover of the journal she had kept since she could write. She turned to survey the room she had grown up in for perhaps the last time, letting her gaze rest on the familiar view out the window.

“It’s time,” her father said, and went into the hallway. Squaring her shoulders, Katherine followed.

* * *

Katherine’s heart pounded as she sat in her father’s personal car – one of the few in Six – and looked out the window. The entire district was packed into the town square, the massive Justice Building towering above the crowds as an uneasy tension filled the air.

She grasped her father’s hand as he helped her out of the car, remembering all of the times she had refused his assistance before. Clasping his hand longer than necessary, Katherine looked into his eyes. Their relationship had been strained over the past few years, but she was not in favor of never seeing him again.

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome,” he said, and she pulled her hand away.

Katherine was used to the sting now as her finger was pricked, scanning the crowds. The younger children in back were either frozen in fear or crying for their parents, the adults watching helpless from the sidelines. The older children and teenagers in front were anxious, glancing at each other and nervously eyeing the Justice Building. Peacekeepers lined the square, imposing and immobile.

Katherine found a place on the edge of the girls’ side of the square, looking over the sea of children to the stage as the escort emerged. She recognized Medda Larkin, Six’s Capitol escort for the past ten years; this time, the woman wore a bright pink dress with purple accents, her outfit covered in frills and bows. But despite her outlandish outfit, Katherine had always perceived the escort to be more level-headed and serious about the Games, unlike her coworkers or fellow Capitol citizens.

“Welcome to the Reaping of the sixty-third annual Hunger Games,” she began, purple lips stretched into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Katherine was able to tune out Medda’s speech, identical to the ones made across Panem ever year and spewed by every escort. During the Games reel, Katherine glanced into the boys’ half of the square. A young man in a gray cap winked at her with a grin, but she rolled her eyes, the video narrator concluding with the lie about odds and favors.

She forgot the boy as Medda went to Reaping Bowls, and the crowd held its breath. Katherine’s fingernails dug into the heels of her hands as the escort solemnly unfolded a slip of paper.

“Katherine Pulitzer.”

She could barely breathe.

The silence was deafening as she was marched up to the stage by two Peacekeepers – Oscar and Morris Delancey – and had to remind herself to keep breathing. Her heart seemed ready to leap out of her chest as she joined Medda, trying to keep her knees from shaking. She found herself focusing on the escort’s unnerving pink contacts.

“Congratulations, Miss Pulitzer,” the escort said with a tight smile, before looking down at the rows of girls staring up at Katherine. “Are there any volunteers?”

Someone coughed, but no one dared move.

“Gentlemen next,” Medda said after a long and uncomfortable silence, leaving Katherine’s side to pull a slip from the other Reaping Bowl. Her eyebrows – dyed purple – furrowed before she spoke into the microphone.

“Crutchie Morris.”

Katherine saw movement in the rows and rows of boys before a voice rang out.

“I volunteer!”

Katherine recognized the boy being apprehended by the Delanceys, his gray cap falling to the ground as he struggled. She was privately impressed as he managed to break out of the two Peacekeepers’ hold, defiantly lifting his chin.

“I volunteer as tribute!”

“Jack, no!” cried another boy, presumably the one whose name had been called by Medda. This Crutchie had an odd stride as he pushed through the other boys, and when he came into the open Katherine saw him leaning heavily on a crutch, right foot dragging in the dust. Morris pushed Crutchie, his crutch clattering to the ground. The boy stumbled and fell, scrambling to get to his feet as a furious Jack shoved Oscar and strode forward.

“He ain’t done nothing wrong!” Jack reached for Crutchie, but Morris, standing over the crippled boy, hit Jack in the face with his baton. The volunteer staggered back as behind him, Oscar aimed to swing his own baton.

“Gentlemen!” Medda cried into the microphone, voice carrying over the square, and the fighting stopped. “Peacekeepers, please accompany the volunteer to the stage.” As the Delanceys began hauling Jack roughly through the crowd, Medda warned, “Remember, we need him in one piece for the Games.”

Shoved at the stairs by the Peacekeepers, Jack kept his balance and joined Medda and Katherine on the stage, ignoring Crutchie begging him to stop. The escort gasped at the volunteer’s swollen eye, but Jack managed a smile even as blood began dripping from a cut above his eye. Katherine found herself returning his smile.

“Why don’t you tell us your name, dear?” Medda said, steering him to the microphone.

“I’m Jack Kelly.”

“Was that boy a friend of yours?”

“Yeah. More like a brother, really.”

“It’s obvious you two are close.”

He shrugged. “You could say that.”

“Well, tributes,” Medda said, motioning Katherine forward, “shake hands.”

His hand was calloused, grip firm, and he met her gaze. She half-expected a smirk or a wink, but he only gave her a serious look as he released her hand. Katherine’s lips twitched up as Medda turned them to face the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the District Six tributes for the sixty-third Hunger Games!”

No one cheered.

* * *

“You have five minutes.”

“Katherine?” came her father’s voice. She looked up from the chair in the sparse room as Mayor Pulitzer walked through the door, and she stood.

“Father–”

He pulled her into an uncharacteristic embrace. She chalked it up to her facing almost certain death, and moved to hug him back, but he grasped her wrist. Confused, she started to pull away, but he pressed a small, square object into her hand. He took a step back, giving her an intent look, and she avoided his eyes as she shoved the object – _what, a small book_? – into the neckline of her dress. Hiding it in her bra was her best chance at keeping the book on the way to the Capitol.

“Your fellow tribute is quite the troublemaker,” Pulitzer began.

Katherine pursed her lips. “He was just trying to get to his friend. And he looks to be a competent fighter.”

“I will give him that. But he seems rather… impulsive. Don’t get too close to him.” Her father cleared his throat. “I just talked to Roosevelt.”

“Oh?” Katherine’s stomach sank.

“He will be mentoring you and the other tribute this year.”

She stared at him. “But you’re a Victor too.”

“I know.” Pulitzer sighed. “I will not be able to think clearly while you are in the Arena. I do not care for Roosevelt personally, but he is undoubtedly a more popular Victor than I am. He will be able to find you more sponsors.”

“Father–”

“Time’s up!” ordered the Peacekeeper as he slammed open the door.

“That was under five minutes!” Katherine protested.

“The train’s leaving. Move it.”

“Goodbye, Katherine,” her father said, voice thick. Neither were sentimental types, but Katherine found tears pricking her own eyes.

“Goodbye–”

“Let’s go!” As the Peacekeeper pulled her out of the room, a corner of the book dug into her skin.

* * *

She watched as Six disappeared behind a hill, the train speeding towards the Capitol. Jack stayed by the window, looking back towards the home they both might never see again, but Katherine stood and went into one of the bathrooms on the train. Locking the door behind her, she pulled the small book from her Capitol-issued bra and inspected it for the first time. It appeared to be a pocket-sized journal, with a miniature pen tucked in the spine. Flipping through the pages, she thought it was blank before catching a glimpse of writing in her father’s familiar hand.

Though her father, a Capitol-appointed mayor and Victor himself, supported the government in some ways, he did not condone the Games. And, apparently, he wanted her to record the Games from the inside.

The Capitol could destroy footage of the Games if they were ever held accountable, but the written word could prove their murders.

A knock on the door startled her out of her thoughts. “Katherine, Victor Roosevelt would like to speak with you,” came Medda’s voice from the other side of the door.

“I’ll be out in a second,” Katherine said, hurrying to flush the toilet and run the tap to make Medda believe she hadn’t been doing anything suspicious. She returned the diary to her bra, adjusting her Capitol-issued shirt, and left the bathroom, repeating her father’s message to herself.

_If it is not recorded, it never happened._

**Author's Note:**

> This was previously titled "strange things did happen here"; the title was changed to a lyric from "Someday" by Alan Menken and Stephen Schwartz.
> 
> There’s a lovely multi-chapter Hunger Games AU fic on fanfiction.net, Midnight by ValandMarcelle, from Jack’s perspective that you should all read. I personally wanted to explore Katherine’s experience being Reaped, and this fic happened. 
> 
> It’s predictable to put any character in a Hunger Games AU in Twelve. According to the official map of Panem, Twelve is in the northeast corner of the States – including the New York area. However, I decided on putting most of the Newsies’ characters in Six because that district produces transportation; it’s a nod to the trolley strike in the Newsies film and musical.
> 
> The musical’s Pulitzer is many things, but I do not believe he wants his daughter slaughtered in the Games. Also, it feels weird that I wrote that Joseph Pulitzer and Theodore Roosevelt, two very real historical figures, won the Hunger Games.
> 
> I’m thinking about writing another installment; if there’s interest, I will definitely try to write more. But this is just a one-shot.


End file.
